


The Edges of the Atmosphere

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: South Park
Genre: Friendship, High School, Love Confessions, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig's favorite part of every day is when he gets to spend lunch period by himself, smoking in the boys' room—until his peace is interrupted by some stupid graffiti.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Edges of the Atmosphere

Craig uses lunch period to smoke in the 3rd floor boys' room almost every day. He doesn't go out to the officially designated smoking area because that's where the goths hang out, and Craig likes to smoke in peace, just him and his beautiful nicotine rush.

The smooth, cool metal of the stall supports him as he leans back more, spacing out, already yielded to the calm that only smoking brings him, filling his bloodstream and blanking his mind. He's Spaceman Craig. He hasn't launched into orbit, of course—another kind of smoke does that for him. He's Spaceman Craig on Earth, nothing else in the world except him and this cigarette.

And then suddenly there are words. Craig feels his brain trying to force his eyes to focus on the Sharpie-scrawled words, something familiar and somehow insistent about them. Then his brain succeeds and he reads:

He leans forward, eyes narrowing as he studies the words, cigarette idle in his fingertips, curliques of smoke drifting up uselessly. There's only one kid at South Park High who makes his Os with smiley faces. This doesn't seem like Butters' M.O., though. So the question is, which of those assholes put him up to it? He thinks he knows who wrote that "BOTH!," but he has to make sure.

Craig takes his foot down from the stall wall, flicks his cigarette at the toilet bowl, doesn't bother to pick it up when he misses. He checks the next stall, which only has some lewd stick figure drawings and lyrics from an old Gersploosh track. But in the third stall, he finds the tell-tale sign he's looking for, that one asshole's trademark amphere:

And:

The stall door slams behind him as he heads for the cafeteria.

He spots them at their usual table as soon as he enters. As a bonus, Butters is sitting with them today—and, Craig sees with a twinge he pushes down as soon as it pokes him, so is Clyde. He takes himself over to them, anyhow.

"Hey. Cocksmoker."

Clyde looks up; everyone looks up, turns around. Everyone except Kenny.

Hands in his pockets, Craig shifts his weight to one foot as he plants the other in the small of Kenny's back. "I need to talk to you, McCormick." He lets his foot drop as Kenny half-turns to him, holding his folded pizza slice one-handed.

"I'm eating lunch. Can it wait?"

Craig keeps his expression carefully neutral, his eyes trained on Kenny. "If it could wait, I wouldn't be here now."

Kenny doesn't ask what this is about; Craig figures he must know, since everyone knows where Craig spends lunchtime. Butters seems to know, at least. Knuckles rubbing together, he opens his mouth to say something but doesn't get beyond an inarticulate sound before Kenny rests his free hand over Butters', gives his anxious hands a squeeze. "Okay, Tucker." Kenny drops his pizza, swings his legs over the bench and gets to his feet in one smooth motion. He starts off and, as if this talk they're about to have is his idea, says, "Let's go."

There's a place at South Park High reserved for important things like getting wasted before English class and making love confessions and having fights. When they get up to the roof, Craig waits for Kenny to prop the door open with a broken brick but he doesn't wait for Kenny to insult him with a question.

"You know why no one likes you?" he says as Kenny is straightening up. "I mean _really_ likes you?" Kenny doesn't say anything but he arches an eyebrow like, _enlighten me_. So Craig does: "People don't like you because you spread around shit about guys who are supposed to be your friends."

Kenny's eyebrow is still smugly arched. There's no way he doesn't know what Craig is talking about. It's like he wants to make Craig say the words out loud, like he'll somehow get off on hearing Craig say it, maybe even more than he got off on writing it in the 3rd floor boys' room and who knows where else—

Fists full of orange parka, Craig shoves Kenny against the wall, moves in so Kenny has nowhere to go. "Take it back."

Kenny blinks at him. Takes the time to moisten his lips before he says, "I can't."

Craig almost regrets the dull, audible _crack_ as he pulls Kenny towards him only to slam his head back against the wall. Almost. To his credit, Kenny winces but doesn't lift a hand either to his head or to Craig.

"You and your little." Craig hesitates, lost for the right word for Butters. He restarts the sentence: "You and Butters are going to go around, everywhere you wrote that crap, and you're going to get rid of it. _Before_ Clyde sees it." He doesn't bother pointing out that Clyde is as sensitive now as he was when they were little kids; other guys might laugh it off, but not Clyde. If Kenny is really Clyde's friend, he should know this.

"Dude," Kenny says, "I can't. I promised—" He cuts himself off and looks away, shaking his head.

"You promised what?" Kenny's head bounces against the wall when Craig shakes him and this time he does try to put his hand up, but Craig's arms are blocking him. "Why did you do it?"

"Wasn't my idea," Kenny says, still looking off.

"What the fuck does that mean? Someone paid you to do it?" Another pointless possibility presents itself. "Was it the fatass?"

Kenny shakes his head. "Wasn't Cartman, for once. And no one paid me. That's all I can tell you."

Craig lets go and steps back. When Kenny McCormick puts something in lockdown, it stays in lockdown. Craig has had occasion to appreciate that in the past, though right now it's kind of pissing him off. But Craig's not really a physical kind of guy, his fighting days long behind him, and just doing this much has tapped his reserves.

He sighs. "I thought you were supposed to be his friend."

"He _is_ my friend."

Craig whips his head around to see Clyde in the doorway. "How long have you been there?"

Clyde shrugs, toeing the brick they'd used to prop open the door. He moves aside, opening the door wider as Kenny passes him; Craig gets a glimpse of Butters as Kenny drapes an arm across his shoulders, then the door falls nearly shut again as Clyde comes over to take Kenny's place slouched against the wall.

Craig is considering asking again, maybe in a different way, when Clyde says, "To be fair to Kenny, he told me it was a stupid idea."

Mid-nod, Craig catches himself. "Wait, what? Kenny..."

"Was doing me a favor." Clyde half-grins, doesn't meet Craig's eyes, shifts uncomfortably against the wall.

"Dude..." Craig doesn't know what to say. He feels like he's the one who's done something wrong here, though he can't figure out what. He'd feel better if Clyde would look at him, at least. Confusion and exasperation mingle in his puffed exhale. "What were you thinking?"

"I thought." Straightening up, Clyde rubs the back of his neck. "I guess I thought that if it didn't go over well, I could deny it. And if it went okay, then." He shrugs.

Craig waits for him to finish the thought, then realizes Clyde isn't going to. It was like this when they were kids, a game Clyde invented—sometimes he would get part way through saying something and then he'd just stop, and it would be up to Craig to put the rest together. Clyde would always smile like crazy when Craig got it right.

They haven't played this game in a long time and Craig doesn't know if Clyde will smile this time, even though he's pretty sure he has it right. He leans back on the wall next to Clyde. "You're a dumbass," he says. "Why didn't you at least tell me and Token?"

Clyde shrugs again. Craig wonders if he's crying. Over the years he's gotten better about doing it in front of other people, but Craig isn't other people. He nudges Clyde's arm with his elbow.

There's no reaction at first; and then Clyde sighs deeply, like he's been holding his breath, and finally looks at Craig. "Are you really okay with this?"

It's Craig's turn to look away. "Stop being a dumbass," he says. He looks out of the corner of his eye and sees that Clyde caught the smile in his words, and is giving Craig one back. "Come on." Craig pushes himself off the wall. "Let's go fly at Stark's Pond."

They make it to the parking lot before the bell rings for the next class. Craig retrieves his orbital smoke from the glove compartment; he doesn't like to drive when he's flying and if he has to leave his car behind, he'd rather leave it here where it won't get towed.

No one's at the Pond when they get there but they walk off the beaten path anyhow, until they get to a tall, old cottonwood. Craig props himself against the trunk as he lights up, but it's not long before he's sprawled out on his back, grass cool and wet with the last traces of snow, Clyde stretched out beside him; the mid-afternoon sun dapples them as they float, the closest to outer space Craig will ever get.

"Hey." Arching, Craig tugs at the hem of his shirt, ridden up in back, but can't get it down. He gives up and lets the wet grass have its way with his bare skin. "Do you really like sucking dick?"

"Dunno," Clyde says. Craig hears him exhale, imagines the smoke spiraling up into the clouds. "I've never tried. I haven't even kissed a guy yet."

Craig takes a toke himself, rubs against the damp blades beneath him. "How do you know you're gay, then?"

"I don't, I guess."

Craig is about to ask why Clyde would start a rumor about himself that he doesn't even know is true—but maybe there's no answer to that.

"Well," he hears himself say, "here—"

And then the earth is gone from beneath him, he's rolling onto his side and just beyond, leaning down, touching his lips to Clyde's.

It's over almost as soon as it happens. Craig stays propped up, looking at Clyde, who once again isn't looking at him. "Well?" Craig asks at last. He's never doubted his skill before, but Clyde's lack of any response at all has Craig unsure. "Dude, I just did it so you could know what it's like," he says when Clyde still doesn't say anything. "Don't freak out on me."

"I'm not freaking out," Clyde says, pushing himself to a sitting position, taking a drag of smoke as he leans back against the cottonwood and looks up. He exhales. "And I know why you did it."

"Okay," Craig says.

"Okay," Clyde says.

They toke, breathy and wordless. Craig didn't crash but he isn't floating anymore. The orbital smoke is still swirling in and around him, though, and he thinks he could lift off again.

His countdown gets interrupted when Clyde says, "Do you do that a lot?"

"Do what?"

"Make out with your guy friends."

"We didn't make out, man." Craig settles into the comfortably damp grass and inhales deeply, trying to reset, to restart the countdown. "It was just a kiss."

"Right," Clyde says. "I know."

Then he says, "Do you want to, though?"

"What?" Craig laughs, jealous of how high Clyde must be flying right now, touching the edges of the atmosphere.

But when he turns his head, Clyde is looking at him, his expression earthbound and serious. "Do you want to make out," Clyde repeats; adds, "With me."

Craig looks at Clyde. He opens his mouth. Shuts it.

"Forget it." Clyde stubs out his joint. "This wasn't how I..." He says more, but the other words are lost as he turns away, chin tucked against his shoulder.

Craig sits up. "This wasn't what?" When Clyde doesn't answer, Craig pushes him over, pins him to the ground, which isn't hard to do because Clyde doesn't struggle. His fingers dig into Clyde's shoulders. "This wasn't how you what?"

"This wasn't how I wanted to tell you I like you, okay?"

Craig sits back and lets Clyde push him off. "Well, Jesus Christ, Clyde," he says, sitting in snow melt, "what were you planning on doing—having McCormick carve 'Clyde hearts Craig' into all the desks at school?"

It's supposed to be a joke. Craig is pretty sure Clyde knows this because he smiles. But then he gets up. "I'm gonna take off now," Clyde says. "Thanks for being cool about everything."

Craig watches Clyde zip up his jacket. "Don't go."

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Clyde says as he bends for his backpack.

"Stay and make out with me."

Clyde snorts. "And you wonder why I didn't want to tell you," he mutters, hands moving in his jacket pockets, feeling for something he doesn't find. He unshoulders his backpack and checks one of the side compartments.

Craig reaches out and unravels the bow of Clyde's shoelace with a quick tug. "Your shoelace is untied."

When Clyde crouches down to re-tie it, Craig says, "I dare you to name a girl I've dated longer than two weeks."

Clyde glances over as he loops one bunny ear around the other and pulls it through. "What?"

"I've never had a girlfriend for longer than two weeks," Craig says, kneeling up, eye level with Clyde now.

"So you're waiting for the right girl." Clyde gives his shoelace ends a final tightening tug.

"Or the right guy," Craig says.

Clyde's fingers stop moving, done with his shoe. He doesn't get up. He looks at Craig. "Quit fucking with me, dude."

"I'm not fucking with you," Craig says. Clyde blinks rapidly at him. "Don't cry." Craig reaches out, fingertips brushing Clyde's lashes on their next downsweep to see if they're damp. "You can cry if you want to," he amends, even though Clyde isn't crying. He wants to tell Clyde he can do anything he wants with Craig.

Instead he lets his hand drop to Clyde's knee. Clyde looks at it there, and whatever he sees makes him sigh. Craig leaves his hand where it is, and finally Clyde says, "Do you want to come over to my house?"

"Okay," Craig says. "Yeah."

As they start walking, he wishes he hadn't left his car at school after all. They'd get to Clyde's faster driving. Or they wouldn't even have to go to Clyde's house, they could just climb in the back seat and make out. And then they could drive to Clyde's house, and Clyde could rest his head in Craig's lap while he drove—

The sound Craig lets out makes Clyde look over. "What was that?"

"I was just thinking," Craig says, "that I hope it turns out to be true. What you had Kenny and Butters write in the bathroom stalls."

Clyde blushes, and he also grins.

They're on Main Street when Clyde says, "I thought you were a playboy." He meets Craig's eyes when Craig looks over. "I thought that's why you always had a lot of girlfriends but never the same one for too long. 'Cause you were a playboy."

"I'm a spaceman," Craig says.

He doesn't think Clyde remembers, until Clyde cups his hand over his mouth and makes the sound of a communication device coming online. "Spaceman Craig, this is Mission Control. Come in, Spaceman Craig. Over."

Craig lifts his own hand-shaped communicator to his mouth. "This is Spaceman Craig. Over."

"Spaceman Craig, Specialist Clyde is super hungry. Requesting permission to stock up on snacks at the 1st Stop en route. Over."

Craig hides a smile behind his communicator. "Permission granted. Over and out."

Their communicators drop to their sides, wires tangling before they can be put away. As his fingers curl around Clyde's, Craig floats up and up, past the Kármán line, higher and deeper into space than he's ever been before.

**Author's Note:**

>   * "Amphere" is the technical name for the @ sign.
>   * The Kármán Line defines the boundary between the Earth's atmosphere and outer space.
> 



End file.
